


i want to break free

by SmittyJaws



Series: modern times (rock and roll) [5]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, ace!Deaky, ace!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-03-08 03:58:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18886729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmittyJaws/pseuds/SmittyJaws
Summary: A collection of short oneshots I've written/been requested to write for the ace!Deaky universe, set in a modern AU. Unless stated, each chapter is a standalone work. Tags will be updated as applicable.Chapter 12: In which many strawberries are bought and consumed, and a lovely summer’s day is had by all.





	1. Game of Thrones

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to ace!Deaky modern AU - a spin-off from my regular fics for random ideas that come to me here and there. Don’t expect too much from these.
> 
> Summary: In which John spoils GoT for Brian.

“Hello all. Freddie here?” you ask, knocking on the doorframe and poking your head into the sitting room, John just behind you.

“Yeah, in his room,” Roger answers absently, gaze focused on the television where he and Brian are currently watching what appears to be an episode of Game of Thrones.

“Shhh. I’m trying to hear,” Brian admonishes. You roll your eyes and go look for Freddie, while John waits in the doorway.

“What season is this?” John asks, brow furrowed slightly. John has no real interest in the books or show (as do you), but he has a passing knowledge of character names and some memes.

“Five. We’re a bit behind, though. Haven’t been able to watch for a while just ‘cos uni’s been so busy, so we’ve just started this season,” Roger replies, glancing slightly over at John before he turns back to the television.

“Season five? Isn’t that the one where whatsisname dies? Daenerys’ advisor?” John raises his eyebrows.

“What??? Barristan Selmy _dies_?” Brian pauses the episode and whips his head around to look at John, an utterly devastated look on his face. At John’s nod and slight grin, Brian glares. “I thought I told you not to spoil things like this for me anymore! Or for yourself! If you ever decide to watch the show for yourself, you’ll have ruined everything because you’ve read ahead.”

“Doubt I’ll want to, so I don’t see the harm in checking out the exciting plot points everyone’s sharing online.” John shrugs. “Besides, you take this way too seriously. At least Rog knows it’s just a show.” He snickers slightly at that. “Bri, you know this is fiction, right?”

“Fuck off; of course I do,” Brian growls. “Just stop ruining this for me!”

Of course, John just seems to take that as a challenge, and makes a point to pop up spoilers in the most unexpected places over the next couple of weeks, surprising Brian in the mornings with a random fact on his phone; plot points for the season scribbled in the margins of one of Brian’s Astrophysics textbooks when he leaves it unattended, or just declaring them verbally whenever he (or Bri, depending on who was there first) enters a room.

Brian, of course, is beside himself, but he can’t watch the episodes too fast; he’s trying to be responsible about the time he gets to bed to be able to manage his classes and tutoring job, and Roger, casual fan though he is, will still give him a piece of his mind if Brian watches ahead without him. So Brian is stuck at his slow crawl, trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to avoid John’s spoilers.

John jokes that it’s far too easy; Brian’s too predictable. Brian tries to vary his routine to throw off the younger man, but to no avail. Apparently even that is predictable, and season 5 of Game of Thrones is getting more and more spoiled all the time, frustrating him beyond belief… until he figures out his revenge.

Brian’s never been a fan of Doctor Who. He accepts that it’s a big part of television history, can appreciate the fact that it’s the longest-running show of all time, and that that’s a record Americans haven’t beaten yet, but he can’t get into it himself. Science fiction shows have the tendency to rub him the wrong way, mostly because of all the inaccuracies about how space is depicted. He knows there’s artistic license involved, and thinks maybe if he weren’t studying to be an astrophysicist, he could appreciate it more. But as it is, all he can see are the flaws, and it grates on him.

He knows that’s why John’s girlfriend doesn’t tend to watch period dramas either; she can’t help but pick apart all the errors (although apparently she gets a real kick out of certain ones because of how bad they are). So by contrast to Brian, she and John tend to gravitate towards science fiction and space dramas. Those are a permanent fixture of their household, from their complete box set of the Star Wars films to John’s ridiculous _Space Invaders_ jumper.

They also tune in to watch Doctor Who religiously every week when possible, and are actually saving up to go for a day trip to the Doctor Who Experience in Cardiff. It’s rather sweet really, seeing how excited they get over it, but right now, all Brian can think of is that this is John’s Achilles heel. He knows they’re a few episodes behind, and figures it’s time to fight fire with fire (or rather, spoilers with spoilers). He finds out where they’re at in the season, and does some looking online for pertinent information. Now, all he has to do is wait.

Sure enough, the next time John comes over he must be in a particularly good mood, as he’s got a shit-eating grin on: “Hello, Bri. D’you know that Shireen’s dad has her sacrificed and killed?”

Even as Brian can feel the blood draining from his face at that revelation, he sticks to his plan of revenge and serving it cold.

“No, I didn’t know,” he answers calmly, a small clench of his fist at his side as he looks up from his textbook the only outward indication of his mood. “But I do know that Clara dies at the end of the current series of Doctor Who, and the Doctor forgets her.”

John just looks at him, dumbfounded, face falling slightly. “…no. That can’t be right.”

“It is,” Brian returns smugly. “You’re not the only one who can read ahead.”

“Fuck.” John curses. “I mean, we knew Clara was leaving, but we didn’t know the rest of that. Goddamnit, Bri.” He looks frustrated now, and Brian feels no shame at all.

“That’s what you get for spoiling so much of Game of Thrones for me,” Brian returns, arms folded across his chest in satisfaction. “If you won’t spoil any more, then I won’t either.” He extends a hand. “Truce?”

“Fine.” John accepts the hand and shakes it reluctantly. “I’ll leave you to yours if you leave me to mine. I don’t need more of the show ruined.”

“Fantastic.” Brian’s grinning widely now. “I’m glad we understand each other.”


	2. shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roger wants to go viral.

“What are THOOOOOOOOSE?”

John sighs and looks up from his book, moving his feet away from Roger, who is currently recording them with his phone camera. “We’ve talked about this, Rog. Leave my shoes alone.”

Roger frowns and taps a button on his phone screen, stopping the video. “You’re ruining the shot, Deaky! We’ll never go viral at this rate. Besides, the public needs to see these. I mean, really? Platform boots? What is this, 1974?”

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” John raises his eyebrows. “Leave me out of this. And I like these boots, thank you. Stop trying to rip off that kid on Vine and make fun of my boots because you’re so hard up for cheap thrills. They barely have a platform anyway.” The last part is added on in a mutter.

Roger sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes. “Fiiiiine. But when I get famous with these clips, guess who I won’t be sharing my fame and wealth with?”

“I thought you said you were going to become famous with the band. With the rest of us.”

“I will! But I’ll also be famous for these! So I’ll be twice as famous as the rest of you!” Roger grins. At John’s deadpan expression, he rolls his eyes again and walks off, calling for someone else to help with his harebrained ‘get famous quick’ plan: “BRI! I NEED YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING! MAKE SURE YOU’RE WEARING CLOGS!”


	3. Pokémon Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roger and Reader play Pokémon Go, and attempt to rope John in.

“Remind me why you dragged me along again?” John sighs from where he’s trailing several feet behind you and Roger as you walk along.

“Company, Deaky! Get away from your constant messing with your amp and enjoy the sunlight!” Roger grins. “Plus, you’ll get to witness me finally catching a Snorlax. It’s gotten away from me for weeks.”

“Is that a good thing?” John’s tone of voice is disinterested.

“ _‘Is that a good thing?’_ , he asks. I’m offended, Deaky.” Roger brandishes his phone at John. “I’ll have you know that Snorlax is a pseudo-legendary, and does not deserve your attitude.”

John rolls his eyes, and you’re just giggling off to the side at the blond’s dramatics.

“Oh come on, John. It’s nice to have you out here with us.” You slow your pace down to walk beside him, linking your arm in his. “It’d be fun if you played too, but I’m just glad to have you here regardless. Ooh, a Skarmory!”

John shakes his head wryly as you detach yourself from his arm to attempt to catch the wild Pokémon, cursing slightly when it evades all your pokeballs and runs away.

“AHA!” There’s a shout from Roger and you and John both look up to see where he’s standing beside a fountain, staring at his phone intently. “Finally, you fat bastard. You’re all mine!”

A portly older lady nearby gives Roger a look of disgust and walks off, muttering about how cellphones are destroying good manners. The blond is too wrapped up in his game to notice, and you and John share a snicker when the lady has walked away far enough.

Roger continues to curse at his phone, no doubt as the Snorlax continues to evade his pokéballs. “Damnit! Why won’t you just cooperate with me? I’m giving you my best candy and ultraballs!” he wheedles, as though the game can hear him. Just then, he goes very quiet and still as he watches his screen intently before giving a triumphant whoop… and proceeds to immediately trip and fall into the fountain beside him.

Thankfully his phone doesn’t fall into the fountain with him, but his case cracks and falls off, breaking into a few pieces as the phone hits the concrete. You and John run over; you’re trying to help Roger out of the fountain where he’s spluttering and laughing, soaking wet, and John’s looking over the phone and picking up the pieces of the broken phone case. “Rog, you alright?” you ask, concerned.

“More than alright!” Roger cheers as he slowly climbs out, dripping all over the place. “I finally caught the Snorlax! It’s about damn time, too.”

“Yeah, at the expense of your phone case.” John raises an eyebrow and shows Roger the shattered case. “Now will you listen to me and get a more durable one?”

“A mere casualty in the pursuit of glory, my good man!” Roger says, clapping John on the shoulder as he takes his phone back, immediately looking over his new Pokémon and renaming it The Fountain. You roll your eyes at the ridiculous name and suggest heading back home so Roger can dry off, but he just scoffs and insists on continuing on with the original plan to carry on hunting for Pokémon.

“I’ll dry off as we walk!” he insists, already making a beeline down the road for where another Pokémon has appeared on his phone screen. You and John just shrug and follow Roger down the road, knowing there’s no point trying to resist him on this.

—

“Deaky, you’re playing?” Roger screeches in disbelief before he turns to you. “What did you bribe him with? Not-sex?“ He gasps. "Did you threaten him _WITH_ sex? …I have no clue what you two hold over each other’s heads if not sexual activity.” He shrugs at John’s look of disdain.

“It doesn’t matter,” John says, clearly wanting the conversation to end. “Anyway, if you’re done going on about this, we can go out. But if you’re going to be a prat, I’ll stay home.”

“No! You’re coming with us!” Roger insists, wrapping himself around John’s arm like a boa constrictor, smirking at the younger man’s attempt to shake him off. “I won’t allow you to stay home and wallow.”

“I wasn’t wallowing,” John mutters, but allows himself to be led outdoors to go look for Pokémon.

You’re snickering as you follow them out the door, and all the while Roger’s chattering on about where they can go to find John some good Pokémon for his collection. "We’re going to find you something great! Hey, give me your friend code so I can add you and send you stuff.”

“No.”

“What? Why not?” Roger cries.

“Because you’ll spam me. No thanks.”

“I would not!” Roger looks scandalized, to which John just gives him a _Look_. “…okay, I might.”

“Exactly.”

—

“Deaky, how the _HELL_ do you have a complete Pokédex?” Roger cries out indignantly as he swipes through the younger man’s phone. “I don’t even have one yet, and I’ve been playing much longer!”

John shrugs and takes his phone back. “Just been lucky, I suppose. That, and fans send me some.”

“What? Fans?” Roger screeches. “You’ll add them to let them trade with you, but not me?”

“They don’t spam me,” John replies. “Besides, they let me get the region-locked ones, and trading with you wouldn’t do that.”

“You got the region-locked ones?” Roger’s voice is somehow still raising in pitch. “How come I never get fans wanting to trade me good Pokémon? The ones that add me send me nothing but Pidgeys.” He folds his arms, grumbling. “Do they at least have good IVs?”

“What?” John’s staring at the drummer blankly. “I have no clue what you mean.”

“IVs! Stats! Are they strong Pokémon?” Roger waves a hand at the phone. “Did the fans at least give you something good to battle with?”

“Oh. Uh. I have no clue, really.” John shrugs again.

“Well, can I see, then?” Roger holds out his hand. “I know what I’m looking for; I’ll be able to tell if they’re any good.”

“You can,” John replies, flipping to the view of his backpack and hands the phone over. “But you won’t find anything; I traded them for candy.”

Roger’s eye twitches and he drops the phone; only quick reflexes on John’s part save it from hitting the floor. “You. Did. _WHAT_.”

“Traded them. I didn’t want them; just took them to be polite, like.” John holds up the phone to face Roger; looking more closely the drummer just sees row upon row of… “Rattata? YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU TRADED YOUR REGIONALS AND LEGENDARIES FOR FUCKING _**RATTATAS**_?”

“What? I like them.” John frowns. “And yeah, I needed the space in my bag for them. Everything people send me just takes up space, but I don’t want to be rude and reject the offers. So I take them and just trade them for candies later on.”

“GOOD _GOD_ , DEAKY!” Roger is bellowing now and pacing the floor. “I can’t believe you; you’ve managed to somehow collect the hardest Pokémon to get in the game… and you trade them for common vermin Pokémon that you can find everywhere.” He sags to the floor, head in his hands. “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?”

“They’re not vermin. I think they’re cute.”

“You… think they’re _cute_.” Roger stares at the younger man. “You don’t want to collect anything else? Anything better?”

“What’s better than collecting the Pokémon I like?” John says with another shrug. “It’s my game, and I’ll play it how I want.”

“Ugggghhh.” Roger flops down and starfishes himself on the sitting room floor. “I can’t believe you sometimes, Deaky. Somehow you’ve managed to turn a fun game into the dullest Pokémon collection ever.”

“Dull to you, maybe, but not to me,” John says. “Now if you’re done criticizing my collection, I have actual homework to do. Some of us care about passing our uni courses.” He prepares to head home, accompanied by the sound of the drummer just moaning loudly on the floor in overdramatic despair.

—

“Look, Deaky! I found your Pokémon!”

“What is it now?” John’s voice has taken on a long-suffering tone after the 10th attempt for Roger to show John ‘his’ Pokémon.

“You’ll like this one, I know it.” Roger grins and holds up his phone. “It’s a Smoochum!”

“A what?” John’s eyebrows raise. He can’t have heard correctly.

“A Smoochum!” Roger holds out his phone again. “The kissing Pokémon! Thought that’d be right up your alley, you sap.” He grins, elbowing John in the side.

John rolls his eyes, but doesn’t fight Roger when he insists on catching a second and renaming them both to your names, secretly thinking it’s adorable.

—

 

“Okay, whose idea was this?” Roger storms into the flat and glares at you and John sitting together on the sofa watching Spaceballs. “I checked on my gym on the way home from uni classes, only to find that SOMEONE had kicked my Persian out! It’s a deserted gym, so I thought I’d be fine, but apparently some _RATICATE_ is there now instead!” His eyes narrow as he looks at John, who’s looking back at him with a shit-eating grin. “The only person I know in the WORLD who’d stick a Raticate in a gym is you, Deaky. Why would you do that? No, forget that. _How_ did you do that? Your Pokémon are shit!”

“They’re not shit,” John returns as you pause the movie. “But if you’re talking about your IVs and whatnot, I do have a few Rattatas with good ones, so I assembled a team and we took your precious Persian out.” His grin grows wider. “How does it feel to have your cat Pokémon taken out by a bunch of rats?”

“…I can’t believe this.” Roger rubs at his forehead in exasperation. “You’re the last person that I thought would care about taking a gym, either. Why would you do that to me? Why couldn’t you just let me have this?”

“Needed coins,” John replies, shrugging a shoulder. “My backpack’s almost full, and I wanted to buy more expansion space. Gyms are the only way to pay for those, because unlike some people, I spend my real-world money on practical things.”

“This _is_ practical!” Roger defends. “A little money here and there never hurt anyone. Oh, right - I forgot you’re in your senior years and don’t know how to have fun anymore.”

“As thrilling as this conversation is, we’re trying to watch a movie, Rog,” you interject, cutting off John’s rebuttal about how _he’s not old, damnit_. “Are we done?”

“Ohoho, you wish.” Roger folds his arms across his chest and continues to glare, moving to stand in front of the television and blocking both of your views. “I have a bone to pick with you too.”

“Yes?” you reply innocently. “Something on your mind?”

“Why, yes - _yes_ , there is,” Roger says in a mock-pleasant tone, advancing slightly towards you. “When I discovered I’d been booted out of my gym, I thought I’d go and reclaim it. After all, a Raticate isn’t too hard to beat.” He leans in closer, never wavering from his pseudo-polite tone. “Imagine my surprise when I discovered there was a level 40 Blissey _also_ defending the gym. A Pokémon that happens to be close to unbeatable without legendaries on your team.”

“Imagine that.” You try to keep a neutral tone of voice, but can’t stop yourself from snickering slightly. “That’s a shame, Rog. Better luck next time?”

“You two are terrible. You kicked me out of my own gym with the world’s worst Pokémon, and you’ve defended the gym from me with the most infuriating Pokémon,” Roger laments. “Life’s not fair.”

“Oh, come on. Raticate is hardly the worst Pokémon. We all know that’s Shedinja. Or Mr. Mime. Or Metapod. Or Jynx. Or-” Roger cuts you off with a hand up.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He rolls his eyes. “Point is, you two are the worst power couple ever. Getting Deaky to play Pokémon Go was a mistake.” He glares at John again, who only grins back unapologetically.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve gained a new appreciation for the game,” John says, amused, to which Roger just huffs in frustration before stomping off to his room. The two of you laugh at his retreating figure before going back to your movie, but both agree that taking the gym was definitely worth it to see the look on Roger’s face.


	4. social media

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which none of the band are trusted with the band’s social media, and Roger is a troll.

“What are you up to, love?” John flops down on the sofa beside you, leaning his head on your shoulder and nuzzling into your hair.

“Oh, just updating the band’s Facebook page while we wait for the others to show up. Freddie asked me to add some upcoming concert dates as events, so I’m setting those up.” You turn your head slightly and kiss the top of his head, earning a contented sigh.

“I still don’t see why you won’t let any of us post anything on there anymore,” Roger calls from the kitchen as he comes out with a giant sandwich. “Wouldn’t it be better if there were more posts from actual band members?”

He pauses slightly at the sight of you and John snuggled up on the sofa. “Also, God you two are sickeningly adorable.” At John’s low grumble, he adds, “in a good way! I think it’s cute. You’re like those old couples you see out at the park. Just out together being sweet and holding hands; you know they aren’t having sex but that doesn’t stop them from being absolutely precious.”

“Being ace makes us like seniors, Rog? What a great analogy,” you snicker, still not looking up from adding the events to the Facebook page. “And to answer your other comment, you know why none of you are allowed managing the band’s social media anymore. You posted incessant memes, Freddie waxed eloquent about the vibe of the shows but didn’t actually give information, Brian gave _too much_ information and confused everyone, and John just didn’t want to, so he put in minimal effort and the posts weren’t structured in a way that made them very shareable. So now, I get the information/aesthetic/memes, and filter it back to the page in a way that gets more people sharing the posts. You’re welcome.”

John’s chuckling now too, still leaned into your side and wrapping his arms around you. “I’m glad she’s doing it, honestly. That’s a load off of my plate. Uni’s bad enough, trying to balance it all with the band stuff, as well as attempting to maintain a relationship.”

“‘Attempting’? If that’s just attempting, I’d love to see what you consider actually properly maintaining a relationship, Deaky.” Roger’s eyes are wide. “You’re already practically an old married couple, and you’re only 20. Does properly maintaining mean that you start thinking about mortgages and property taxes? Retirement funds? RRSPs? TFSAs? ASDF? …I have no idea what I’m saying anymore. I just picked up half of those terms from the Accounting major I was seeing last week.” He shrugs, then winks lasciviously as he takes a giant bite of his sandwich. “And boy did we do some accounting, if you know what I mean.”

“God, Rog,” John groans. “I did not need to know that. And stop talking with your mouth full.”

“This is exactly what I mean! You sound like a parent. Or any adult telling off a kid.” Roger waves the sandwich in John’s direction.

“We _are_ adults.” John rolls his eyes. “Unless you’d forgotten that?”

“You know what I meant! You sound old! How are you somehow already in your 40s and you’re younger than me? If it weren’t for the fact that you’re so good with technology, I’d be inclined to call you Granddad.”

“Uggghhh,” John groans again, burying his face back in your hair. “Remind me why we thought it was a good idea to come over today?”

“Freddie said he had band-related news, and wanted to tell everyone at once.” You shrug, closing your laptop.

“But we have a Whatsapp group for that! I could have gotten the information from there without this verbal abuse.” He gives a pointed look and long-suffering sigh in the drummer’s direction, who only responds by smirking and opening his mouth to reveal a half-chewed mouthful of sandwich. “See what I mean? Disgusting.”

“I’m sure he had a good reason to want to do it in person,” you attempt to placate John, while shooting a mild glare of your own at Roger. “I’m not surprised he’s running behind, though. Brian has the excuse of being in class today; I have no idea what Freddie’s reason is.”

“Does he even need one?” John mumbles into your hair. “He’s never on time. You could set alarms on his phone to go off every five minutes to remind him not to be late, and he still would be late anyway.”

You can’t help but giggle a bit at that mental image, running your hand through John’s hair gently. Roger notices the movement and immediately becomes more alert, smirking: “hey, hey! You two are gonna do that on the sofa? In front of my virgin eyes? Gross!”

“We’ve told you that’s not how being ace works, Rog. Just because we don’t have actual sex doesn’t mean that other actions automatically take their place.” You’re rolling your eyes now. “Holding hands, hair touching, etc, does _not_ mean that we are ‘getting it on, ace-style’, to use your words. Also, I highly doubt that any part of your body can be described as virgin anymore.”

“Oh, I know.” Roger’s smirk grows. “But it’s entertaining to watch you jump to defend your adorable behaviour. And also, I’m offended by that remark.”

“But am I wrong?”

“…no.”

John snickers again, and on that note, Freddie and Brian walk in the door to discuss whatever this meeting is meant to be about.


	5. May the 4th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Reader and John are trying to celebrate Star Wars Day, but Roger has other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you can find the one John Mulaney joke I threw in. XD

“Brian? Can I help you with something?” You’re a bit surprised to see the guitarist outside the front door. It’s May 4, and therefore time for yours and John’s yearly marathon through the Star Wars films; usually Brian stays far away due to his disinterest in sci fi (that, and John had banned him ever since Brian wouldn’t stop commenting on the inaccuracies in Rogue One).

“Can I come in?” Brian’s eyes are darting back and forth, as though he’s expecting to have been followed.

“Uh. Sure, I suppose.” You wave him in and close the door behind him. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Roger. He’s driving me mad and I couldn’t stay at our flat for any longer.” Brian looks aggravated beyond belief.

“What’s going on now?” John approaches, coming out of the sitting room to join you. “Oh hello, Bri.”

“He says it’s Roger,” you tell John, turning slightly to face him. “I’m wondering what’s so different than usual that he felt the urge to run here.”

Brian takes in the sight of the two of you in your matching Star Wars shirts; yours with a cartoon Princess Leia shouting _“I am not a committee!”_ and John’s with _“Never tell me the odds!”_ in bright font, knowing he’s interrupted your movies. “I know I’ve interrupted and I apologize. If I can sit in the kitchen to study or catch a bit of a kip in the bedroom for a while, I’d appreciate it. I just couldn’t stay at the flat any longer.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.” You nod. “But why?”

Brian rubs a hand over his face. “Roger decided to celebrate what he called the ‘culturally superior holiday’ and started blasting Smash Mouth at ungodly hours. How Freddie sleeps through it, I’ll never know, but he’s had All Star on repeat since 8AM. I couldn’t take it any longer after a while, and asked him to turn it down. He responded by throwing in a single I’m A Believer just to spite me, and turning it up louder when he got back to All Star. So I left the flat. Stop laughing, this isn’t funny.” He glares at the two of you, currently dying of a fit of the giggles right there in the front entryway.

“Oh come on, Bri! You have to admit it’s a little funny.” John’s wiping away tears of mirth as he attempts to stifle his laughter.

“You won’t think it’s so funny when he shows up here,” Brian threatens, and that makes the two of you sober up rather quickly.

You exchange a look with John. “What are you talking about? You’d sic him on us?”

“No, not like that.” Brian rolls his eyes. “But I’m fairly certain he may consider following me here. He has a Bluetooth speaker, and you know he won’t hesitate to use it.”

“Oh, God. He would,” John whispers, horrified.

Almost as if on cue, there’s the sound of footsteps approaching from down the street. “Shhh. Everyone quiet!” you hiss, checking the door to be sure it’s locked, and even throwing on the chain for good measure.

Brian and John don’t need to be told twice, flattening themselves on the wall away from the window as you hide behind the door to stare through the peephole.

Sure enough, a bleach blond head comes into sight, and Roger knocks on the door. You don’t make any movement, and you can see him step off to the side to look through the window. Upon seeing and hearing nothing, it almost looks as though he’ll leave. You breathe a sigh of relief, when suddenly: _“SomeBODY ONCE TOLD ME-”_

Roger’s turned on his phone and a pocket-sized speaker on full blast. “Open up, nerds!” You can hear him hollering over the music. “Bow before the superior piece of media and accept Smash Mouth as your one true God. The Force can suck eggs.”

“Damnit,” you turn back to Bri and John and curse, trying to be heard over the loud volume, but not have Roger hear. “I don’t think he’s leaving. Not until he gets a response.”

“Probably not,” John sighs. “Maybe we can bribe him?”

“Maybe? Who knows.” You turn back to the door and unlock it slowly (but still leave the chain on for safety’s sake). The music quietens down in response, and you open the door a crack. “What do you want, Rog?”

Roger leans up against the door, but the chain prevents it from opening any further. He’s slightly thrown by this discovery, but recovers quickly and grins winningly. “What I want is for you to unban me from movie nights. I feel that it’s unfair I was banned in the first place.”

“I gave at the office,” you remark dryly, pushing back on the door to try and force it shut. “The ban holds.”

I just want to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked!” Roger retaliates, leaning back more heavily and turning the music back up. “That movie ban was cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Banning you for constantly throwing popcorn at the telly and getting it all over the floor isn’t cruel and unusual,” John speaks up. “If anything, we were lenient. Now go away and let us finish our marathon in peace. And stop leaning on the door; you’ll break the chain.”

“Not a moment’s peace until I receive my satisfaction!” Roger declares, though he does let up slightly from leaning on the door. “So either give in and let me back in to the movie nights, or I sit out here all day celebrating the holiday. And you know I will; I don’t have anything else to do.” He smirks again.

“Anything? Any _ONE_?” John pleads. At your incredulous look, he whispers, “what? If it gets him to leave…”

“Not a thing, or a soul!” Roger responds cheerfully. “I have my schedule cleared to spend my time out here on your doorstep playing my music and leeching off your wifi.”

Just then, all your phones ping with a new Twitter notification: **_CarEnthusiast247 has tweeted:_** _fighting the good fight against injustice. I will not be silenced ✊🏼✊🏼✊🏼 @JohnRichardDeacon @TheRealBrianMay #JusticeForMovieNight_

“Really, Rog?” Now Brian’s the one to speak up. “You’d think we were actively oppressing him, the way he’s carrying on.”

“I _am_ being actively oppressed!” Roger cries, pressing his face towards the open gap in the door as Smash Mouth continues to blare in the background. “It’s an outright crime that I’m not allowed to join in on the movie nights anymore.”

“Ugh, fine,” you respond. John’s eyes widen and he’s giving you the ‘kill it/stop it’ gesture, and you give John an apologetic look. “If we don’t give in, he’ll sit out there all day and manage to piss off the landlord and neighbours with the noise. I’m not taking that risk.”

“Fine,” John groans, and Roger’s turned his speaker way down low to listen in before cheering in triumph.

“Yes! Once again, good triumphs over evil! Justice has been served!” He’s pumping his fist, but you unlatch the chain and interrupt his celebrations with a solid punch to the arm. “Ow!”

“That’s for interrupting our marathon. And furthermore, you’re going to be on the hook for any popcorn spilled on the floor from now on. You’re not turning our place into a den of choking hazards for Bean.”

“Oh, if it’s for Bean, then I’ll definitely clean up.” Roger nods enthusiastically. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

“…because you cleaning up after yourself shouldn’t be contingent on our cat?” John remarks, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re an adult; try to act like one?"

“Never!” Roger shouts gleefully before turning his speaker back up to blast I’m A Believer as he runs down the drive, presumably to go home and bother Freddie again.

The three of you are left standing in the doorway dumbfounded, even as you can still hear Roger’s music blasting down the street (and Roger singing along) _“AND THEN I SAW HER FACE-"_ before John just sags back against the wall and says it best for all of you: “God help us all.”

You and Brian nod solemnly, before you offer Brian the bedroom and you and John return to your marathon.


	6. Semple/Kapoor feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Freddie stans the Semple/Kapoor art feud.

“Freddie, you _didn’t_ ,” Brian groans as he watches the singer gleefully unbox a package to reveal a new mug labelled Muggiest Mug, complete with anti-Anish Kapoor disclaimer on the opposite side. “Don’t you think this has gone too far?”

“Never, darling!” Freddie declares as he immediately goes about getting water to boil for tea. “This art feud is an absolute thrill to watch, and I’m happy to support it in whatever way I can.”

“Really, though?” Brian’s rubbing his hand over his forehead now. “This was from…” he double checks the packing slip, still in the box. “Etsy. This has nothing to do with directly supporting Stuart Semple’s art or materials.”

“Oh, I know that, dear. But this way everyone knows where I stand on the matter. Some of my classmates have similar items as well: Muggiest Mugs, Backpackiest Backpacks, Shirtiest Shirts… we want everyone to know that we stand with Semple, and that Anish Kapoor is a prick,” Freddie points a finger in Brian’s direction.

“I know, you’ve told me.” Brian hold’s his hands up placatingly. “And I agree, that is a nasty thing to do. But do you really need to get so involved with something that doesn’t affect you directly? How would you even have afforded Vantablack for your art supplies, even if it was available to the public?”

“It’s the principle of the matter!” Freddie cries as the kettle boils and he finishes making his tea. “Anish Kapoor needs to be publicly shamed for this behaviour, and by God, we’re going to try. Speaking of, do we have any cans of beans in the flat right now?”

“Er. I think we have one. Why?” Brian’s confused at the random change of subject.

“Fantastic! It’s for an event. A bunch of us are planning on eating beans at The Bean tonight to establish our dominance over that ridiculous sculpture,” Freddie states with total seriousness, taking a sip of his tea. “So if you hear me up at midnight, that’s why.”

“…WHAT?? Nothing you just said made any sense!”

Freddie sighs and proceeds to explain the significance of The Bean, how there’s been a Facebook event set up to coordinate this and the host has set up a camera to livestream the sculpture at 6PM GMT-6 for everyone who can’t be in Chicago, and they’re all going to eat cans of beans (or variants) around The Bean to mock Anish Kapoor and his ridiculous art.

Brian sighs tiredly and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “You could have just said it was a Semple/Kapoor thing, Fred. I didn’t need all that backstory.”

“Well, now you know!” Freddie grins. “If you’d like, you can join me.”

“…I think I’ll pass. I have to tutor in the morning. Thanks, though.”

“Your loss.” Freddie shrugs, taking another sip of his tea from the mug.

Just then, Roger and John arrive, and Roger’s face immediately lights up upon seeing the mug. “Fred! Is that a Muggiest Mug I see?”

“It most certainly is, Rog!” Freddie beams proudly. “It’s absolutely lovely. You know, I could get you all ones of your own too, if you’d like? More support for Semple!” He looks the others over eagerly, trying to gauge their reactions.

Roger’s nodding eagerly, and opens his mouth. “Y-mmmph!” He’s cut off by Brian quickly covering his mouth.

“No, Freddie. We’re fine,” Brian says with another sigh, before startling and ripping his hand off the drummer’s mouth as though he’s been burned. “Rog, did you actually just lick my hand? Disgusting.”

Roger just grins back cheekily, before Brian decides to wipe said hand off on the drummer’s shirt. “Hey!”

As the two of them begin to bicker amongst themselves, Freddie turns to John. “And you, Deaky? Would you like one? Just say the word and I’ll get it for you.”

“It’s fine, Freddie. But thanks; that’s very generous of you.” John smiles, chuckling a bit as he watches Brian and Roger arguing in the background, shoving at each other like teenagers.

“Are you sure? You know it’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure; I have a fair number of mugs already,” John replies. “But again, it’s very nice of you to offer.”

Freddie shakes his head. “No, it’s settled. I’ll definitely get you one. Only the best for you, Deaky! Oh! Do you think your better half would like one as well?”

John rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Freddie’s stubbornness. “Alright then, buy me one if you’d like. And yes, if you’re insistent on buying these, I know she’ll get a kick out of it.” He turns back to look at Brian and Roger, still bickering and no longer paying this conversation any mind, before turning back to Freddie. “I wouldn’t buy them any, though. I don’t think they deserve it.”

“You’re so right,” Freddie agrees, heading towards his bedroom to find his laptop to order two more mugs. “Semple doesn’t deserve to have his name dragged into whatever those two are up to. Ah well - their loss!”

John just snickers and has a seat at the kitchen/dining area table, pulling out a textbook or two to try and get some work done while they argue.


	7. clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roger makes fun of John’s fashion sense.

“Tell me something, Deaky.”

“Hmm? What?” John’s focused on fiddling with his amp, not looking up at Roger.

“Were you born in your 40s, or did it happen over a period of time?”

“Fuck off.” John doesn’t need to see Roger’s face to know the blond is enjoying taking the piss. “If anything, you just never grew up.”

“I resemble that remark!” Roger retorts. “I definitely did.”

“The fact that you just quoted a cartoon character kind of undermines you,” John replies, looking up and smirking.

Roger doesn’t have a reply right away, and when he does, it’s not the most confident of responses: “…yeah, well… Enjoy being old, old man. At least I still know how to have fun; unlike you, who thinks the Bee Gees and the whole disco genre are the greatest thing to happen to music and who dresses like an old man in retirement when we’re not on stage.”

“I like more music than just the Bee Gees!” John protests. “And how is putting on a jumper when it’s cold ‘dressing like an old man’?”

“Uh huh.” Roger sounds disbelieving. “Name three other non-disco groups you listen to. And Led Zep doesn’t count!” He points a finger at John, cutting him off as the younger man opens his mouth. “Everyone listens to Led Zep. Name three other groups.”

John thinks for a moment, then replies, grinning: “Bruno Mars, the Police, and Coldplay. Ha!”

“Knew I made that too easy,” Roger grumbles under his breath before speaking up again. “Fine. But that still doesn’t disprove my other point - you dress like an old man.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” John looks down at his outfit: long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed up as he works, jeans, and his favourite boots. “This is normal. Jeans and shirts are normal.”

“Not when the jeans are higher-waisted flares-“

“-boot cut!”

“-and the boots are zip-up suede throwback monstrosities from the 1970s. That decade died for a reason, Deaky,” Roger stresses. “You need to stop trying to relive them. I know those were your glory days, but that’s the past.”

“I’m not fucking 40 or older.” John’s grimacing now and examining the waist of his pants. “And these aren’t that high-waisted.”

“You dress like a suburban mom! I almost expect you to start driving a minivan and demand to see the manager every time we go to the store!”

“We never go to the store together. And fuck off anyway; you’re apparently so juvenile that you can’t even button up your shirts properly,” John retorts. “Actually, wasn’t showing off your chest with day to day dressing a thing they did in the 70s too?” He grins smugly. “Now who’s the old man?”

“…fuck.” Roger appears to have no good answer for that, and backs off, eyes narrowed and finger pointing accusatorially at the younger man as he walks backwards out of the room. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Deaky.”

“Bye, Rog!” John sounds far too cheerfully smug as he goes back to working on his amp.


	8. fanmail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John answers some fanmail. Requested by @winterknightdragon on Tumblr.

“Deaky, I need you for something,” you call out from where you’re hunched over your laptop in the sitting room. “Can you come here?”

“One sec,” comes the response from the bedroom, and you flick through Roger’s latest batch of Instagram memes while you wait. Soon enough, John joins you on the sofa in the sitting room, leaning into your side. “What’s up?”

“There’s a message on the band’s blog, and I need you to answer it,” you reply, turning slightly to kiss his temple before you look back at your computer screen.

“Me? I thought we’d all agreed that you’d do it.” John frowns slightly. “What’s the matter?”

“The matter is this,” you tell him, turning the computer screen to face John. “It’s anonymous: _‘hello. I’ve loved your music and seeing you perform for a while; it really makes me feel things most other music doesn’t. I actually had a question, though, and I’m sorry if this is too personal: I recently started questioning whether I’m straight or not, because I’m not interested a lot of the things my friends are. With anybody. I know John’s ace, so I was wondering: how did you know? Again, I’m sorry if this is too personal, but I didn’t know who else I could ask. Thank you for your time.’_ Now see why I can’t answer this?”

“Hmmm.” John’s furrowing his brow as he re-reads the message. “I don’t fault them for asking, but I never wanted to be an LGBT advocate. You know that. The band knows that. I don’t care so much that people know, but I didn’t want that to be what people focus on - that the band is ‘woke’ for having marginalized identities in it.” He makes the air quotes as he speaks. “I feel like answering this sets a precedent; it’ll invite more people to ask questions like that.”

“You’re not wrong,” you agree, looking him in the eyes. “But, think about how you’d feel if that was you. Confused and worrying about what you’re feeling, and knowing one of your musical idols is living their life in a way that’s valid to them and doing well because of that. Wouldn’t you want someone to tell you that things would be alright? That it’s normal to feel that way?”

You take his hand in yours, smiling slightly as he interlaces the fingers together and rubs his thumb over your joined hands absently. “Queen might not strictly be an LGBT+ band, but you have to admit you do have that image of being LGBT-accepting, and like it or not, people would look up to you and ask advice regardless. This just happens to be on a subject you’re uniquely qualified to answer. You don’t have to, of course, but I think it would really help them out if you did.”

“I suppose.” John thinks about the matter for a moment or two. “Alright. But this doesn’t mean that I’ll be answering more of these if they come up,” he warns. “You’re still our media manager, and I’m happy to keep it that way.”

“Fair enough.” You squeeze his hand gently before he removes his hand from yours. “Go ahead and use my laptop if you want; I’ve already got it opened to the page, so you might as well save yourself some time.”

“Okay.” John takes your laptop and just gives it a long-suffering sigh before you see him slowly start typing a greeting into the text box. “I suppose I could write them a short message. But would you mind helping? I mean, this is your job,” he teases before he turns back to the screen.

“Sure, if you think you need me to.” You shrug. “I’m not sure what I’d be able to add that you wouldn’t, though.”

“You’re the one who said my Facebook posts were ‘so matter of fact we might as well have had a bot write them’,” he reminds you with a quick side-eye as he continues typing. “Maybe you’ll be able to add more of the personal touch to it. I’m not much of a wordsmith; you’ve seen my attempts at song lyrics.”

“Just takes practice, that’s all,” you reassure him as you read over his shoulder, wincing slightly at the recollection of that blunt assessment of his posts. “You’ll get it with time, and then I know you’ll be fantastic. Misspelled ‘your’ right there, by the way.”

“See? This is exactly what I’m talking about,” John remarks, correcting the error. “You’re invaluable.”

“I’m really not.” You roll your eyes. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. That, or you’re just looking for an excuse to keep me here so I don’t leave you to do this alone.”

“You’ve caught me,” John jokes, looking up from the laptop to kiss your cheek. “Couldn’t stand for you to run off and abandon me to this. If I have to sit through answering fanmail for you, the least you can do is keep me company. That, and you’re warm.” He shuffles closer to you on the sofa.

“I knew you had an ulterior motive!” You declare dramatically, even as you turn slightly to let him lean into you more. “You’re lucky I like you, so I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Oh, will you?” John snickers as he adds on to his message. “What would you have done if you didn’t like me, hmmm? Withheld sex?”

“What else would I withhold?” You roll your eyes.

John’s still laughing as he finishes up with his message and tilts the screen so you can read it. “Looks good to me, love. Just send it off then let the computer sleep. I’ll take a bit of a break from answering some of those messages til later.”

“Alright.” John clicks the submit button and watches the internet think as it processes his post for a moment before confirming that it has been posted. Once it’s finished, he closes up the laptop and puts it away before turning back to you, putting an arm around your shoulders. “Well now, looks like we’ve got all afternoon to ourselves.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You know what that means.”

You wiggle your eyebrows right back. “Re-watch old A-Team episodes and laugh at the mistakes?”

“It’s like you read my mind.” John grins as he stands up to go put the DVD into the player before coming back to rejoin you on the sofa. “We’ve worked hard enough on the band’s internet presence for one day. We deserve this,” he jokes, settling down beside you and gently tugging at you to lean on him.

“Definitely,” you agree, settling yourself down and making yourself comfortable as the menu music begins to play and John chooses the episode.

—

_Hello Anonymous, this is John Deacon here. Trying to figure out what’s going on in your life and what you want for yourself can be tricky sometimes. I didn’t know right away either if I was straight or not; I assumed I was, and only saw rare mentions of being ace online in passing. I thought at first that being ace meant that you didn’t want anything to do with other people for a relationship at all, so I didn’t think that was me._

_The biggest indication to me that something wasn’t right was the fact that I constantly made excuses to get out of having sex with my (at the time) current girlfriend. I was either ‘tired’, or ‘didn’t feel well’, or ‘just wasn’t in the mood’, and I went out of my way to try and avoid having her see me undressed/undressing at all to try and prevent putting her INTO a mood. If we did try, it wasn’t enjoyable and we didn’t get very far. I thought there was something wrong with me; why didn’t I want to do this with someone I cared about?_

_I did some more looking around online, and I found out that what I thought was ace was just incorrectly described aro, and I decided to look up some questions about traits that you might experience, being ace. That’s how I came to my own conclusions, but it still took me a bit to fully accept it._

_There’s no right or wrong answer to what you’re feeling; as long as you’re happy and your partner (if you have one) is respectful of your wishes, then that’s all that matters. Thanks for your question, and I hope this answer helps._

_-JRD_


	9. Twitter feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roger and John get into a Twitter feud with our favourite jerkface. Requested by @kellypenac on Tumblr.

John looks far too gleeful, which immediately makes you suspect that something is up. That, and he and Roger are sniggering like small children over the sight of something on the bassist’s phone. You sigh; whatever this is, it can’t be good. “What are you up to, Deaky?”

“Oh, just giving that little weasel Prenter a taste of my mind,” John remarks far too casually, to which your eyebrows raise.

“What are you doing? You know you can’t go confronting people online like that; as much as I dislike Prenter, as your social media manager for the band I have to protest.” You fold your arms across your chest.

“Nothing like that,” Roger rushes to defend John, though he’s still giggling slightly at the phone. “It’s a subtweet. Nothing direct at all. But he should know it’s about him, so it’s still satisfying.”

“Oh God, this is the last thing I need,” you groan. “A Twitter war. Is anyone else in on this, and how much damage control am I going to need to do?”

“Well, John and I have both been sending some, Bri’s sent one, and Freddie just insists we’re being far too unfair and that we’ll _‘like him if you just give him a chance, darlings!’_ ” Roger affects Freddie’s accent and makes a disgusted face. “He’s got a blind spot a kilometre wide when it comes to Prenter, and that rat takes full advantage of it.”

“Freddie does have a bit of a soft spot for him, yeah,” you concede before leaning on the arm of the sofa. “What did you send, though?”

“Here.” Roger opens his phone up to the Twitter app to show a series of tweets on his account:

__**CarEnthusiast247:** some people need to learn when to stay out of band business when it’s not their band 1/?  
 **CarEnthusiast247:** and when to stop being shady and taking advantage of people who are too nice for their own good 2/?  
 **CarEnthusiast247:** those nice people might not see it, but i do 👀👀👀 watch yourself 3/3 

“…okay, mildly threatening, but it could be worse.” You run your hand through your hair, handing the phone back to Roger. “And you, John?”

John’s a little more reluctant to hand his phone over, but eventually does and you read over his tweets as well.

__**JohnRichardDeacon:** Learn to take a hint and piss the fuck off when your presence isn’t wanted.  
 **JohnRichardDeacon:** Or else you might suddenly find that certain important devices of yours no longer work.  
 **JohnRichardDeacon:** Don’t think I won’t do it. 

“Good Lord.” Your eyes widen. “Deaky, you’re threatening to sabotage his things?”

John doesn’t even look apologetic and simply shrugs a shoulder. “If it makes him go away.”

“Much as I would love to set you loose on his belongings, you can’t do that,” you stress, handing the phone back. “I’m almost afraid to ask what Bri sent.”

Roger snorts derisively. “He tries, but Bri is nowhere near as imposing online. His height has no effect there.” He snickers as he pulls up Brian’s account on his phone and reads out the tweet: “ ** _TheRealBrianMay:_** _You’re more loathsome than a particularly stubborn hangnail. Do everyone a favour and leave us alone. -Bri_ ”

You can’t help but giggle at it; the acid is clearly obvious in Brian’s insult, but it loses some power when the guitarist isn’t towering over the person to deliver it, and signing all his social media posts just makes it look as though he’s a middle-aged mother who doesn’t understand the internet. You snicker at his wording, nodding at Roger. “Fair point. I don’t think I have much to worry about there.”

“See? Exactly!” The drummer sounds satisfied. “It’ll be fine. Really.”

—

It is _not_ fine. By the next day, Prenter’s clearly seen the tweets and there’s a savage back and forth going on between him, Roger, and John. Brian’s not even bothering trying to keep up, Freddie’s protesting all of this, and you’re just trying to put out fires. On the one hand, publicity is publicity and the band is small enough that it can use all it can get, but on the other, the band can’t risk becoming known as That Group With the Difficult Members if they ever want to get an actual album deal, so you need to put a stop to this.

On the _other_ other hand… you really don’t like Prenter either, and part of you just wants to let him have it, yourself (and are a little resentful that you have to remain neutral here). If you’re being honest with yourself, what you really truly want to do is hop onto the band’s account and publicly call Prenter out, but you can think of so many ways that this could go badly, and you remind yourself that it’s not your place to use the band’s social media (and their fanbase) as your personal platform. Still, it’s tempting.

In the meantime, all you can do is stand by and watch as the tweets get less passive and more aggressive, and when Brian offers you a sympathy beer, you gladly take it. The two of you sit at the kitchen table in front of your laptop, just watching the comments fly with increasing vitriol.

It doesn’t look like there’s any end in sight… at least, until you get an incredibly wicked idea. Brian approves, and the two of you put your plan into action and just wait for the shoe to drop. Sure enough, within a matter of minutes there’s shouting from the sitting room: “What the hell? I’m locked out of my account?” “Me too! What the fuck.”

You don’t approach, instead, staying by your laptop in the kitchen while you and Brian smirk and exchange a high-five. Soon, the doorway is filled by the sight of a visibly-fuming drummer and bassist. "We just got locked out of our Twitter accounts! Apparently someone reported us to the staff account, and now we’re not able to login for a week!“ Roger seethes. "I bet Prenter did it; he knew he was losing to us both! I bet he-”

His tirade is cut off by John staring at your laptop in disbelief… where your browser tab with the Twitter staff support chat is sitting open in plain view. "What the hell? _You_ did this?“

"I did,” you reply evenly, crossing your arms over your chest. "You weren’t going to stop anytime soon, so I took action. Now you can sit in Twitter time-out for the next week.“

"What the fuck.” Roger looks dumbfounded. "He was being an ass, and John and I were giving him what he deserved! That’s not fair!“

"Yeah,” John chimes in, before giving you his best sad puppy eyes. "You know he deserved it too. I thought you loved me.“

"Oh, grow up, both of you,” you retort, rolling your eyes at John’s attempt to use wiles on you. "I don’t like Prenter either, but continuing on like this makes you no better than he is. And flirting will get you nowhere.“ You shake a finger at John in warning.

"Ugggghhhh,” Roger moans. "At least tell me you reported Prenter too?“

"That she did. All three of you are banned from Twitter,” Brian replies smugly as he gathers his things to head back to his room. "As though she’d leave him out; that’s equality for you. Now I can finally get some work done around here,“ he mutters on his way out the door.

After Brian leaves, Roger’s expression turns sly. "You know, we never did reach a resolution to that conflict. Maybe we need to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, then I’m all for it,” John replies, expression equally sly. "My afternoon is free; want to go out for a little while, do some sightseeing?“

"You both think you’re being clever and subtle, but you’re really not,” you reply dryly from where you’re watching this exchange at the table. They both look at least slightly chagrined until you continue: “as long as you don’t film anything and leave a digital footprint, I couldn’t care less what you do. I’m your social media manager, not your babysitter.” You feel an amused grin coming on as you scribble out a home address quickly on a Post-It note that Brian has left on the table. "Have fun _‘sightseeing’_ ; I’d personally recommend this area right here.“

John looks disappointed about not being able to save anything digitally for posterity, but Roger just takes the note gleefully before running out the door, and John’s disappointment fades as he quickly follows the drummer and you hear the door slam as they head out.

"What was that all about?” Freddie enters the flat and walks into the kitchen, raising his eyebrows. "I almost got ran over on my way in - I haven’t seen Rog run that fast since he accidentally made moves on that rugby player’s girlfriend.“

"No idea, Fred.” You shrug slightly, closing your laptop and heading to the sitting room, now that the sofa is free. "I’ve stopped questioning most of the things he does.“

"Have they at least stopped that awful Twitter war with Paul?” Freddie sounds slightly distressed now. "He’s really not that bad, and I wish they would just give him a chance.“

"No more Twitter battling,” you confirm, settling in. "I don’t think that’ll be a problem for a while, actually.“

"Oh, thank God,” Freddie says, relieved. “I’m so glad to hear that. Did they come to some sort of an agreement, then?”

“…you could say that.” You look at your phone where it’s buzzing and see that Brian is sending you message after message of frowny face emojis and texts saying this is a bad idea, to which you respond with thumbs up and kissing face emojis and put him on mute. “I don’t think we’ll have any issues with him anytime soon at all.”


	10. Roger prying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roger asks invasive questions. Vaguely NSFW? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“So, I know you don’t actually ‘do the deed’,” Roger says, making obvious air quote gestures. “But do you do things at all?”

“What are you talking about, Rog?” You’re trying to follow his logic.

“You know. On your own. Is that a thing for you people?” Roger waves a hand at you and John where you’re sitting together on the sofa.

It takes a moment, but then it hits you what he means. “Ew. Gross! Why would you ask that? John, hit him for me?”

“Gladly.” John sounds far too gleeful as he reaches over to Roger’s chair and swats the drummer’s arm.

“What? It’s a valid question!” Roger rubs at his arm. “I’m not asking for details, and it’s not like I’m gonna tell people.”

You hesitate, then let out a long sigh. “Fine. Only to make you shut up. And _only_ if you swear to never bring this conversation up ever again.”

“Yeah! I swear! I don’t discuss other people’s love lives with anyone but the people in question. I’m not that hard up for conversation,” Roger scoffs.

“…alright.” You’re giving him an intense look with extremely narrowed eyes. “Yes. Occasionally.”

“Aha! The secret is revealed!” Roger crows, before he frowns again. “But how? If you don’t feel that way towards people? Are there things involved? Items?”

“No comment.”

Roger jerks his thumb in John’s direction. “Does he send you dick pics to help you out? Or should I say, _Deak_ pics?” Roger is wiggling his eyebrows and snickering at his own joke.

“…oh my God. Really? You actually just made me hear that with my own ears.” You’re giving Roger an incredulous stare. “John, hit him again?”

“Didn’t even have to ask.” John’s already moving, delivering a punch to the drummer’s arm.

“Ow! That’s the same spot you hit earlier!” Roger complains. “This is abuse.”

“No, what’s abuse is hearing that godawful joke about what you think we do at home,” you reply, deadpan. “You know what they say: talk shit, get hit.”

“Ugh, fine. You’re no fun. Deaky, how about you?” Roger smiles winningly, trying to convince the bassist to open up.

“Not telling.” John shakes his head.

“Oh, come onnnnnnn,” Roger gripes. “Please?”

“No.”

_“Please?”_

“Nope.”

“Pretty please?”

“Stop batting your eyelashes at me, Rog. You look ridiculous. And no.”

“It’s just a simple yes or no question, Deaky!” Roger is wheedling now, trying to get an answer.

“And I’m not answering it.” John starts looking at something on his phone, clearly disinterested. “Find someone else to interrogate.”

“Is this because you think I’ll use it as blackmail? Because I won’t.”

“Good.”

“…because I have better things to use as blackmail.”

“Wait, what?” John’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing.

“Yep,” Roger says smugly. “I may or may not have some photos in my possession from Freddie’s birthday party that you don’t want leaked to the Cloud. So what’ll it be, Deaky?”

“…fuck.” John’s glaring at the blond now. “I thought you said you deleted those.”

“What photos are we talking about?” you pipe up, interest piqued. “You didn’t mention any of this to me. I’m still disappointed I missed that party, by the way.”

“…nothing. Not important. Nothing to concern yourself about.” John’s backpedaling frantically now, but to no avail.

“Oh, just some photos of him actually getting dolled up in some of Freddie’s finest things when he’d had a little too much to drink and insisted that we make him over.” Roger’s cackling at the memory, even as John is gesturing at him to shut up.

“You took advantage of me. I clearly couldn’t consent.” The glare grows.

“Oh, come on! If anything, we did you a favour, Deaky. You wanted to leave the flat and go out on the town dressed that way. We confined you to the flat for your own good,” Roger protests. “My only fee for my generosity was taken in the form of some incriminating photos for later use. And you really think I wouldn’t save backups? I’m not getting rid of my leverage so easily.”

John snatches the blond’s phone from where it’s sitting on the end table. “What leverage? I’ll find them and delete them.”

“Phone’s locked.” Roger sticks his tongue out.

“Like that’s a problem?” John’s tapping at the number pad, and the phone unlocks with a _swoosh_ sound.

Roger gapes. “How did you do that? Is that something you learn in electrical engineering classes?”

“No.” John rolls his eyes. “It’s because your passcode is _1-2-3-4_ , which is a moronic passcode to use.”

“Don’t look at me like that! I have a million passwords, usernames, and PINs to remember. I had to keep it simple!” Roger defends himself. “And anyway, you won’t find the photos.”

Sure enough, John’s swiping frantically through the photo app, not seeing anything. “Damnit! Where are they? Selfie, selfie, boatload of memes, pictures of your drumkit, more selfies, your van, and…oh God! WHY DO YOU KEEP THOSE PHOTOS AFTER YOU’VE SENT THEM, ROG?” John drops the phone as though he’s been burned. “That’s more of you than I ever wanted or needed to see.”

“Hey, careful!” Roger snatches the phone up. “You’ll crack the screen.”

“The screen’s already cracked,” you point out from where you’re trying not to die laughing at this whole situation. “What’s another addition?”

“I’d like to still be able to use this phone! I can’t afford another new one.” Roger’s looking it over to check for additional damage. Satisfied, he tucks it in his pocket before looking smugly back at John. “And anyway, they’re not on there. I have them hidden. So spill it, Deaky. Do you really want to spend ages searching for evidence you won’t find, or will you just tell me your sexy little secret?”

“Never let me hear those words ever again, directed at me or otherwise.” John cringes. “That’s just awkward.”

“Fine, but you still haven’t answered my question. You gonna tell, or let me release those photos online?” Roger’s staring intensely at the bassist, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and fingers tented. “The choice is yours.”

John looks torn. “…if I give you an answer, you promise you’ll delete them? All copies?”

“I swear it.” Roger nods.

“That’s what you said last time, though.” John’s eyes narrow. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“I’ll delete them in front of you, Deaky. If that eases your mind.”

“It will.” John’s folding his arms across his chest. “I want to see them ready to be deleted before I do this, though.”

“Fine. Hold on!” Roger gets up and heads to his room. After a minute or two of obvious rummaging sounds, he returns with a USB drive. “Here. This is the drive I kept them on. I promise that this is the only copy.” He quickly moves his arm away when John tries to make a grab.

“Play fair!” Roger complains. “Tell me, and I give you the drive to do what you want with it. I promise there’s no porn on it either.” He winks again. “I checked to be absolutely certain.”

“Ugh.” John makes a face in disgust, as do you. “Yet again, more than either of us needed to know. God, you’re disgusting sometimes.”

“To quote your favourite old-man cartoon, _‘I yam what I yam’_.” Roger affects a bad impersonation of Popeye and shrugs. “Now, what’ll it be, Deaky?”

“I… might,” John mumbles, ducking his head. “But rarely. And only to deal with morning… issues.”

“So you admit it!” Roger is triumphant. “I knew it all along.”

“You did not.” You roll your eyes and lean over to pluck the USB drive from the drummer’s hand before he has a chance to renege on his deal. “You were guessing at best, and you had no way of knowing either way. For all you know, we were bluffing and only told you what you expected to hear.” You smirk and hand the USB over to John, who pockets it immediately.

“Nah, I don’t think you were,” Roger says with confidence. “The two of you are far too honest and open about that sort of thing; I don’t think either of you can lie convincingly to save your lives.”

“Or was that a double bluff?” John says, exchanging a look with you and smirking. “You’d be surprised, Rog. There’s a lot you think you know, but you don’t.”

“Such as?” Roger’s raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“C’mere and I’ll tell you.” John crooks his finger, beckoning Roger closer and leaning in to whisper in the blond’s ear.

“Oh? Oh. _Oh._ OH!” With every single thing John’s telling him, Roger’s face is contorting into expressions you didn’t know were possible. You don’t know what John might be saying, but you can’t stop giggling as the blond runs through a myriad of emotions on his face, finally settling on wildly incredulous. “ _No!_ That’s not possible.”

“It is, and it’s true.” John backs away, grinning. “Now, do you think we were telling the truth earlier, or not?”

“…uhhhh.” Roger’s at a loss for words now, looking back and forth at you both and the matching smirks on your faces.

“Exactly.” John gives him a look of satisfaction before leaning back into the sofa. “You’ll never know.”

Just then, there’s a rattle of keys in the lock, and Freddie and Brian return from their trip to buy groceries.

“But! Just! I!” Roger splutters, unable to articulate his frustration, and knowing he won’t get any more opportunities to pry anymore. “Bri, tell John off!”

“What’s he done this time?” Brian answers back drolly from where he’s closing up the door, Freddie already having dropped his groceries off in the kitchen and sequestered himself in his room.

“…he’s being a prat!” Roger sounds petulant now.

“I see.” Brian leans his head in the room on his way to the kitchen, wagging a finger at John mock-sternly. “Deaky, don’t do that.”

“That’s it?” Roger cries as the guitarist leaves to put away the groceries. “I am the _injured_ party here, and he’s getting nothing more than a minimal slap on the wrist?”

“Yes, because I’m sure you started it,” Brian calls from the kitchen, clearly arranging soup cans by the sounds of things, and completely unaffected by Roger’s pouting.

Roger folds his arms across his chest and sulks, while John sticks his tongue out in his direction before settling further back into the couch to play a game on his phone.


	11. Buzzfeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roger is a Buzzfeed ho.

“Roger, what have I told you about sending me Buzzfeed links? Or tagging me in them when you post your results on Facebook?” John sighs from where he’s sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through his Facebook newsfeed.

“…not to?” Roger has the good grace to at least sound sheepish from where he’s sat on the floor playing MarioKart, not looking at John.

“Exactly. I don’t need another 17 quizzes spamming my messages just because you decide to waste your class time. And anyway, _[‘What IKEA product are you?’](https://www.buzzfeed.com/elisabethburden/which-ikea-product-are-you-1o1ub)_ Really?”

“What? It was surprisingly accurate! It said I was a HEKTAR floor lamp with big ambitions!”

“Wow.” John rubs his hand over his face, wishing he had less easily-distracted friends. “Whatever. Just don’t send me any more. I mean it this time.”

“Did you take the quiz, though? I bet you’re a dresser. Or a wardrobe. I’m totally seeing you as a MALM kind of guy.” Roger cackles as he deploys a red shell to knock out an opponent, whooping as he takes the lead.

“…no.”

Roger can’t see John while he’s still focused on maintaining his lead for this last lap, but he recognizes that tone of voice. “Deakyyyyy,” he wheedles. “You did, didn’t you?”

“…I just said no.” John’s scrolling through a set of photos his girlfriend has posted of a school trip to an old castle for her History studies this weekend, liking a few selfies that he thinks she looks particularly nice in (not that he ever thinks she doesn’t look particularly nice) as well as some of the stained glass windows, and hoping desperately that Roger will drop the subject.

No such luck, though. The race ends and Roger turns to face John, whose face is getting rapidly redder by the minute. “Deaky, come on! You’ve got to tell me! I need to know I’m right!”

“It’s just a dumb quiz, Rog! Why are you so concerned about this?” John is squirming slightly under the blond’s intense gaze, but Roger won’t back down.

“If it’s such a dumb quiz, then why did you take it?” Roger sounds far too smug for someone whose main pastime (besides drumming and coasting through his uni classes) involves reading articles like _[“Is Your Boyfriend Great or Just a Raccoon?”](https://www.buzzfeed.com/joannaborns/boyfriend-or-raccoon?utm_term=.dc28wX5R5#.acPKq8PJP)_

“…”

“Deakyyyy, tell me. You know I know all your ticklish spots, right?” Roger wiggles his fingers threateningly.

John stares at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Roger advances slowly, and John’s trying to call his bluff and not give in, but the blond isn’t stopping, and just before he makes contact with John’s ribs John blurts out: “I couldn’t sleep, alright? I woke up in the middle of the night for no reason and was having trouble falling back asleep, so I thought doing one or two of them might make me tired. It didn’t help, by the way.”

“I knew it.” Roger’s backed off again, but now looks even more smug. “So, what are you, then? Share your secrets, Deaks. There’s no judgement here on your quiz results.”

“…a TIDAFORS corner sofa, alright?” John mumbles. “Now drop it and go back to your game.”

Roger’s gone back to his game, choosing a new character and vehicle, but he looks back over his shoulder at John. “Isn’t that result a ‘charismatic and outgoing’ one? How in the hell did you get that?”

“Fuck if I know. And how do you know that anyway? How many times have you taken that quiz?” John is incredulous now.

“Uh. I plead the fifth.” Roger’s head whips back to the tv to look at his game.

“We’re not American, Rog - the fifth amendment has no jurisdiction here. Have you been binging Law & Order episodes again?”

“Maybe.” Roger still won’t look at him. “How I spend my free time is my own business, _Mum_.”

“Fine. Just don’t come crying to me when you crash and pass out after your exams again because you keep deciding to pull all-nighters the day before tests,” John says firmly. “Speaking of, I have an exam in the morning, then I have to pick my girlfriend from uni when she comes home from her trip tomorrow, so I’m going home to get some sleep.”

“You’re going to bed at 9:30pm? On a Friday? God, you really are an old man,” Roger jokes as he starts the next race. A flick on the back of his head is the only response he gets for that. “What? I’m just saying.”

“Goodnight, Rog.” John sounds fondly exasperated as he pulls on his jacket. “Try not to stay up too late?”

“You can’t stop me!” Roger shoots back cheekily.

“Oh, can’t I?” John smirks. “I can easily cut off your wifi for the night if I need to, and I know you’re out of data. In the words of that meme you sent me: _‘try me, bitch’_.”

Roger hits pause on his game and looks at the younger man in horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would, _and_ I’d call your actual mum on you.”

“Ugh, fine. You drive a hard bargain, Deaky. I’m doing this under protest, though!” Roger grumbles.

“Knew you’d see things my way!” John says in a sing-song manner on his way out the door, still grinning. “Goodnight!”

Roger has no idea if John can actually shut off the wifi remotely, but he doesn’t want to take any chances and forces himself to go to bed at 11pm.


	12. strawberry explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many strawberries are bought and consumed, and a lovely summer’s day is had by all. Requested by @vanillatumbleweedscoffee on Tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [Summertime_Poet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summertime_Poet/pseuds/Summertime_Poet). Prompt: “The store had a discount on strawberries!”

You hadn’t originally intended to buy strawberries when you’d gone out grocery shopping, but here you are, pondering the display in the middle of the produce section. A large brightly-coloured sign had announced a particularly good sale on them, and you and John were opting to splurge, knowing how expensive they normally were.

“How much should we buy?” you ask, casting a look over to where John is standing beside you, examining some of the cartons for bruising and mould.

“Plenty,” he replies cheekily, beginning to load up your shopping cart with a stack of strawberry cartons. “We’ve both been paid from work, and this kind of deal doesn’t come around often. So why not have a bit of fun for once?”

“You sure we’ll be able to eat that many?” you ask, eyes wide as John continues to stack the cartons. “We can’t just live off of strawberries ‘til the next paycheck, love.”

“I know.” John’s eyes are crinkled in amusement as he loads one final carton in the cart. “We’ll buy the rest of what we came here for, and find something to do with these.”

——

It’s been hotter than usual for this time of year, and by the time you arrive back home you’re beginning to worry about what you’ll do with all this produce John’s insisted that you buy. They’re so ripe they won’t keep for long in the refrigerator and you have limited space to store them for freezing.

“I suppose we’ll have to make things with them,” you say, staring at the myriad of cartons currently residing on (and covering) your kitchen counters. “Any ideas?”

“Possibly.” John’s already got his phone out, and he does a quick search for something to do with them. “We’ve got the entire rest of the day free; fancy some cooking?”

He grins and holds out his phone to show you the results of his search, and as you skim through the list, you find yourself smiling too as you nod in agreement. “Yeah, this just might work.”

——

The rest of your morning and afternoon is spent in the kitchen; both of you poring over the stove, cutting up multitudes of fruit, and laughing every time John manages to ‘accidentally’ sample a lot of the strawberries in a particular measurement for a recipe for a cake that you’re trying out.

You’re glad you both had the forethought to change into T-shirts neither of you cares about, as you’re both getting strawberry juice everywhere regardless of your best efforts and both yours and John’s fingers are stained red.

John insists that part of the strawberries be used to make jam, at which point you do need to send him off for more supplies ( _“you need pectin to make proper jam, and that’s not something we’d commonly keep around the house. And sugar. A lot more than what we have here.”_ ). While John’s off running the errand for you, you continue your work and give the rest of the band a ring to invite them over that evening, offering to host this week’s movie night.

——

Later that afternoon, you’re finally enjoying a moment’s peace while you wait for the cake to finish baking and the jam to cool. You’ve somehow managed to use enough strawberries to lessen your concerns about having them rot in your refrigerator, and now it’s time for a bit of a break from all of your hard work. You and John sit out on the small balcony in your flat, enjoying the breeze and watching the few clouds in the sky drift past as you wait for the others to arrive for the movie night.

Even though you’ve both attempted to clean up from all the mess you’ve made in the kitchen and are both drinking glasses of cold water, it’s still too warm to be fully comfortable. It’s pleasant, though, even if you are both wearing stained shirts and sweating from the humidity, and at one point, you reach over to take John’s still red-tinted hand in yours, just enjoying the companionship on the summer’s day.

——

Both of you try to shower to clean up before the rest of the band arrives, but nothing can fully get the red stain off your hands and you lament this fact briefly with John as you await their arrival, knowing they’ll tease about the sight. Sooner than anticipated, the others arrive and after a few token digs about the state of both yours and John’s hands and forearms, you’re ready to get your movie night underway.

You serve up the last of the strawberries in bowls with whipped cream, trying to offload them and mitigate the fact that you already know you’ll be eating strawberry-related foods for at least the next week. Brian and Freddie thank you for this politely, but Roger wastes no time in beginning to wolf his down with reckless abandon.

“Rog, please,” Brian chides, rolling his eyes. “Slow down before you make a mess.”

“I don’t need to slow down! This is delicious!” Roger grins, raising his head to reveal that his face is covered in whipped cream.

“Have you no decorum?” Freddie picks at his bowl of dessert daintily and scoffs. “You need to enjoy this. Properly savour it.” Turning to you, he smiles warmly. “He’s not wrong about one thing, though - this is delicious. My compliments to you both.”

You flush slightly at the praise and hope Freddie doesn’t notice it due to the warmer weather. “It’s nothing, really - just some fruit with whipped cream. Nothing special.”

“Nothing _special_?” Freddie cries, shaking his head. “My dear, it’s an absolutely lovely treat for a day like today. Thank you both.” He nods approvingly at both you and John, before side-eyeing Roger again, whose face is still covered in whipped cream and is now sticking his face in close to Brian’s and making jokes about rabies.

John just grins wryly before he leans in and nudges you in the side to look over at the blond’s antics. “Didn’t realize we had a child. Maybe we need to put him in timeout to learn some better manners when we have company over.”

The two of you giggle at that image, even as Roger looks up in confusion about why you’re suddenly laughing and refuse to explain why.

——

Overall, it’s a pleasant evening; the weather is still much too warm, even with a fan set up and windows open to allow a cross-breeze, but that doesn’t stop you and John from curling up next to each other on the sofa as you all watch Black Panther. Roger is cackling at the terrible jokes, Brian is simultaneously fascinated by and wanting to disprove the science being used, and Freddie sketches plenty of new ideas for stagewear based on the ceremonial outfits. Everyone’s eaten their fill of the strawberries (and in Roger’s case, licked his bowl clean) and everyone’s cozy and comfortable in this moment together.

In a moment of tranquillity, John distracts you from the movie to quietly point out the view of the sunset outside, slowly making its way past the horizon. He pulls you closer as you watch that for a few moments before you turn your attention back to the movie, taking his still-stained hand in your own (equally stained) hand, both of you just content to enjoy being together and enjoy the end of a lovely summer day.


End file.
